


Too Far Along

by bigboobedcanuck



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Torture, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigboobedcanuck/pseuds/bigboobedcanuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reimagining of "The Last Patrol" and sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/238912">A Few Degrees Warmer</a>. In Haguenau, Lew and Dick eagerly anticipate time alone. The Germans have their own plans.</p><div class="center">
<br/><i>“Don’t take any chances on this one. We’re too far along for that.”<br/>– Lewis Nixon, “The Last Patrol”</i>
<br/></div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You got any soap? I need a shave.”

“Of course you do.” With a smile, Lew adds, “I’ll send some down.”

Dick returns the smile as they sidestep one of the countless piles of rubble that spill onto the grey streets of Haguenau. “Keep some for yourself.”

“Nah.” Lew rubs his jaw. “Wanna see how long I can go before Sink says something.”

“We’re out of the Ardennes now.” They’d even had lukewarm showers and received fresh ODs upon their arrival that morning. “No excuse.”

“Right, because it’s positively _tropical_ here.” Lew steps closer and lowers his voice. “Does your billet have a lock on the door?”

Dick nods, and they share a long, heated look that sends sparks skittering across his skin. The possibilities run riot through his mind, and he takes a ragged breath. “Think we’re in the same house; back behind HQ. I’m on the top floor.”

Lew’s about to say something else, but seems to think better of it. He glances around before leading the way down an alley and into a nearby house. They nod to soldiers walking out with bags of potatoes slung over their shoulders, and Lew takes him back to the ransacked kitchen. The small pantry, only a few feet square, stands empty but for a couple of dented cans and a broom in the corner. After another look around, he tugs Dick inside.

“Nix….” Dick’s tone is warning, but he doesn’t resist.

Lew shuts the door behind them and presses Dick against it before removing their helmets, dropping them to the creaky floor. “Just wanted to show you some very important intelligence.”

Dick tries to think of a pithy reply, but can only come up with a low groan as Lew leans into him, his thigh wedging between Dick’s legs. In Bastogne, they’d shared a collection of stolen moments in Lew’s foxhole, kisses and quick caresses, hands stealing under layers of fabric. Always fleeting, never enough. They hadn’t dared anything else, and after the weeks of build-up, Dick is stretched tight as a wire.

But here in a dusty Haguenau pantry, back in civilization, it’s all suddenly _real_ and daunting — and more exciting than anything Dick has ever known. Lew sees something in his expression and peers anxiously. “Is it…do you want to stop?”

Dick knows he means stop for good, and the thought is so _impossible_ that he can only smile and kiss away the sudden vulnerability softening Lew’s face. The kiss is gentle for a moment before Dick takes a breath and presses their lips together fiercely, pushing his tongue inside Lew’s mouth as he tangles his fingers in his hair. Lew returns every moan and touch and then some.

They’re both quickly hard, and Dick wonders what it’ll be like when they’re naked together, to feel Lew’s entire body against his, to touch and taste him completely. He saw Lew undressed plenty of times in the barracks at Benning and Toccoa, but never really _looked_.

They’re wearing too many layers of canvas and cotton, but as they kiss and tease, he manages to get a hand under the back of Lew’s jacket, and he yanks out his shirt until he can feel warm skin. As his fingers dip below Lew’s waistband, he’s struck with a memory.

In college he’d taken an elective course on the early Greeks and Romans. One rainy morning, holed up in a library carrel, he’d stumbled upon a chapter in a yellowed book from a research pile. In words and pictures, it documented the things some men had done together in ancient times, how they’d joined their bodies and pleasured each other with generous mouths. He’d devoured the chapter wide-eyed, glancing around the hushed room with every page turned.

As he ruts against Lew, moaning into his kiss, thinking of those ancient drawings, he’s going to come. He pushes on Lew’s shoulders, breathing hard. “Tonight. Twenty-two-hundred.” He smiles wryly. “I’m about to embarrass myself. Just got these ODs and don’t have a spare until my laundry’s done.”

Lew nips at Dick’s jaw and rubs against his hip. “You can just go without pants. We’re in France, after all.” Lew kisses him again before pulling back. He runs his fingertips over Dick’s chin. “Mmm, actually, I’d better shave, or everyone’s going to wonder why your skin’s redder than usual.”

“I’ll do it for you tonight.” He leans in and whispers in Lew’s ear, even though they’re alone. “Do a lot of things.”

Groaning, Lew presses against him again, rotating his hips. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Dick’s suddenly struck by a decidedly unpleasant sensation. “Have there been…have you….” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“Why, Captain Winters, are you _jealous_?” Lew grins, eyes gleaming.

“No. Maybe.”

Lew shrugs. “There were a couple times at boarding school. You know, just…boys being boys. No girls around, and we were horny little bastards. But not since then, and it wasn’t like this.” He brushes his thumb across Dick’s lower lip. “This is….”

Dick’s mouth is unaccountably dry. “What?”

“Different.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Lew nods. He blinks as if something’s just occurred to him. “Have _you_? You know, the way Speirs was looking at you the other day at the CP—”

Dick laughs in a way he hasn’t in months, warmth rumbling up from his belly. “ _Speirs_? Yes, you’ve caught us, Nix. My secret’s out.”

Truth is, aside from some awkward and unsatisfying fumbling with two girls in college, Dick’s barely done anything with anyone. They’d been nice girls, but he hadn’t wanted to marry either of them, and it had all seemed wrong somehow. He’d lived at home on the farm and worked nights in the kitchen of a diner near campus, and after a while he’d decided he was just too busy to bother with girls. Yet with Lew, everything makes sense and falls into place as Dick imagines it should. Now that they’ve started, he can’t believe they waited so long.

Lew’s laughing, too. “Look, I don’t trust that crafty son of a bitch as far as I can throw him.”

“I’ll tell Ron it’s over. I’m sure his wife will be relieved.” As soon as the words are out, Dick’s smile fades, and guilt slices through him. Honestly, most of the time he forgets Lew is married. He thinks that Lew does, too.

Lew seems to read his mind. “It was over a long time ago, Dick. Hell, it was over before it began. Kathy got pregnant, and what was I supposed to do? I barely knew her. I'd already joined up. We've barely even lived together. She and the kid…don’t get me wrong, I love that little girl. I want to know her. But I wouldn’t recognize her if she toddled into this pantry right now. I barely remember what Kathy looks like. She’s probably just waiting for the war to end before she files for divorce. And if she doesn’t, I will.”

“You could have gone home. Taken that pass. Maybe things would be different.” He’s shamed to remember how glad he was when Lew turned down the chance to go back.

“And leave you in Bastogne? Who’d feed you?” He leans in and kisses Dick softly. “Who’d keep you warm?”

Dick sighs into him, pressing his lips against the fading wound on Lew’s neck that doesn’t need a bandage any more. He wraps his arms around him tightly, and for a minute, they just stand there, holding each other. Dick closes his eyes.

They pop open as footsteps pound through the house. Neither he nor Lew breathes as they listen, frozen, to someone in the kitchen just beyond the thin, wooden door. Carelessly opening drawers and cupboards, the man mutters under his breath. A voice calls in the distance. “Hey, Cobb! C’mon!”

Cobb’s typically sour voice replies. “Yeah, yeah, hold yer horses.” His footsteps retreat, and Dick and Lew exhale as one.

“Nix, if we get caught….”

“We won’t. Too smart for that. I’m an intelligence officer, remember?” Stepping back, he straightens his uniform and tucks the back of his shirt into his trousers. “All right. Twenty-two hundred hours.”

It’s all so incredibly surreal, and Dick thrums with anticipation. “Twenty-two hundred.”

Lew slaps his helmet back on. “I’m going for a walk down the river. Regiment wants me to get the lay of the land. I’ll probably see you around this afternoon.”

“Okay, see you then. You go first.”

After listening at the door for a moment, Lew’s gone with a final wink.

*

Dick doesn’t see Lew that afternoon.

When he’s released from one of Sink’s mind-numbing supply briefings — Dick bit his tongue and didn’t relay to the colonel how glad he is they’ve finally received the winter equipment they needed months ago — he looks for Lew at HQ but can’t find him. He asks a young orderly who appears all of fourteen, and the boy squeaks that he thinks he saw Captain Nixon going off with Colonel Strayer.

As Dick gets called into another briefing with Sink, he checks the time, and calculates the minutes remaining until twenty-two hundred.

*

Chow is hot, which is all Dick can really ask for at this point on the wrong end of the supply chain. He tries to avoid the eager new lieutenant, Jones, and eats at one end of a long dining table with Speirs while artillery explodes a few blocks away. The best thing about Speirs, other than his fearlessness and outstanding skill as a soldier and leader, is that he doesn’t feel the need to fill a silence.

Dick finds himself thinking of his earlier conversation with Lew, and he covers his huff of laughter at the thought of himself and _Speirs_ with a round of coughing. Ron regards him evenly, swallowing his stew. When Dick drinks some water and goes back to eating, Speirs turns his attention back to his bowl. Now that he’s unlocked the door in his mind, Dick can admit that Speirs is an attractive man, but….

When he thinks of the pantry again, he coughs to hide his shudder of desire, and Ron refills Dick’s cup with water.

*

At twenty-one hundred, the soap finally arrives at Dick’s small, faded room. The worn furniture doesn’t match and seems collected from a number of houses, remnants from the rubble. Dick asks the courier when he last saw Captain Nixon. The private hasn’t, and when questioned further says he doesn’t know who made the request for soap, and that he has a long list of deliveries to make.

As the minutes tick by, Dick shaves himself carefully, thinking of how he’ll glide the razor over Lew’s skin. How he’ll touch him everywhere. It’s _intoxicating_ , and so strange to have thoughts of intimacy with a man — with _Lew_ — running freely through his mind. If Lew wasn’t arriving in thirty-six minutes, Dick would undo his trousers and pleasure himself with long, hard strokes.

Instead, he changes into his dress uniform and straightens the bedspread.

*

By twenty-two eighteen, Dick quietly paces the length of his room, which is all of twelve feet. He can’t stop thinking about what it’s going to be like to go to bed with Lew, and perhaps he _should_ take himself quickly in hand, because at this point he won’t last three minutes. But it’s been so long since he’s experienced release, and he wants it to be with Lew’s moans echoing in his ear, feeling the hot slide of his flesh.

The fresh water he’d prepared for Lew’s shave has grown cold, and he checks his watch again. He hears his mother’s voice echo in his mind. _All good things come to those who wait._ He supposes he should be ashamed to think of his mother at all when he’s about to commit a sin she wouldn’t be able to fathom. Yet it only fills him with a pleasant wistfulness.

 _*_

At twenty-three hundred, his heels strike the floor forcefully as he strides back and forth. Lew’s probably carousing somewhere, distracted by an offer of cards and drink. He hasn’t sent a message. Perhaps hasn’t even noticed the time.

The anger ricochets through Dick, but passes as quickly as it flared up. No, Lew wouldn’t leave him hanging like this, alone and questioning. Not Lew. He may have his vices, but cowardice or thoughtlessness are not among them.

The worry begins to creep in.

 _*_

By zero-twelve, Dick marches the crumbling streets of Haguenau in his ODs, asking the few souls he encounters if they’ve seen Lew, whose room stands empty and seemingly untouched from that morning. A shell roars its way across the river, and he takes cover in the burnt-out remains of a café.

When he approaches HQ, he’s surprised to see the young orderly walking out, still awake at this hour. He calls to him. “Soldier. Is Captain Nixon inside?”

The boy’s mouth opens and closes like a fish on a hook. “Uh…you should speak to the colonel, sir.”

The gnawing worry crystallizes into fear that grips him bodily. “Why? Where is Captain Nixon?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” The boy scurries away, head down.

Dick’s running now, and the door to HQ crashes into the wall as he barrels in. Heads swivel, and Sink’s mouth, already a grim line, compresses even further as he sighs heavily. “Captain Winters, you should be sacked out.”

“Where is he?”

Sink, who had been leaning over a map — one of Lew’s? — spread over a table, leads the way into his office without another word. Heart hammering his ribs, Dick tucks his helmet under his arm, reminding himself that the colonel is his commanding officer, and he can’t lunge across the desk and shake the information from him. _Lord in heaven, please not Nix. Please._

Sink doesn’t sit. “Nixon went out on a scouting mission earlier today.”

“Yes. Down the river.” His breath lodges in his throat.

“He didn’t come back, Dick. He’s gone.”

Stomach lurching violently, Dick wishes desperately that he could wake up and make this untrue. _No. Anyone but him. Not him._ His vision hazes, and he shakes his head when Sink points him to the guest chair, because if he sits down now he might never get up.

Dick’s knees tremble, nails digging into his palm as he struggles to force air into his lungs. He notes, as if from a distance, that his voice is remarkably composed and even. “A sniper?” He blinks as images of Lew on the riverbank, eyes open and unseeing, flies gathering even in the cold of winter, flick through his head like stills from a silent film. _Did he feel it? Did he know?_

The grief cores Dick’s bones and leaves him utterly hollow.

“No. He’s not dead. At least not that we know of.”

Swallowing, his throat parched, Dick manages not to stagger with the sweet relief flooding over him. “Where is he?”

“The Krauts snatched him. Goddamned Nazi fucks. I sent a team when he didn’t report back, and they couldn’t locate him. If there’d been an accident, we’d have found him, or at least heard something by now.”

 _Alive._ “When are we going to get him back?” Dick’s mind whirls with plans of action. “I can put a team together, and—”

“Dick.” Sink points to the chair again and sits in his own, but Dick can’t move. There’s something in Sink’s demeanour that he’s never seen before. _Defeat._ “I know you and Nixon are good buddies. I realize how hard this’ll be on you. But at this stage of the game, we can’t go storming across the river looking for a needle in a haystack. He’s likely miles away by now, God knows where. The war’s coming to an end. He won’t be locked up for too long. A few months, tops.”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “A few months. Of torture.”

“Well now, they signed the Geneva Convention just like we did. They’re not as bad as the Japs, I can assure you of that.”

“He’s an intelligence officer. They’ll do anything to make him talk. Just like we would.”

Sink has the grace to meet his eyes. “Yes, they will. But we know Nixon won’t give in. He’s far too stubborn a son of a gun.”

“No, he won’t talk.” Instead he’ll suffer endlessly, and Dick has never wanted to kill the way he does in this moment as he thinks of the faceless Germans who will pound and tear Lew’s flesh and mind.

“Dick, you know if I thought we could get him back, I wouldn’t hesitate, and neither would the general. We have to stay on target; stay focused. But we’ll give them a taste of their own medicine, don’t you worry. Nixon’s tough. He’ll get through it.”

“Yes.” There’s no other option.

“Now get to your quarters and rest up, son. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Dick’s head moves in a nod, and his legs go one in front of the other until he finds himself back on the street. He makes it around the corner of HQ before vomiting into the slushy dirt. He braces himself against the brick wall, his helmet rolling away. Coughing and heaving, he closes his eyes to the thought of Lew across the river and possibly forever out of reach.

He thinks of Christmas, and Lew’s low chuckle as they’d heard McAuliffe’s response to surrender. _Nuts!_

Dick wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and retrieves his helmet. His mind stills, calm clarity taking the place of the dizzy whir of emotion and memory. He knows Sink is right. If it were anyone else taken behind enemy lines, he’d hate it. But he’d accept it, and the impossibility of pursuit.

If it were anyone else.

*

The pile of laundry is strewn on Lew’s floor. Dick brings the undershirt to his face, breathing deeply of Lew’s sweat and scent, of the foxhole in Bastogne. He folds it into his pocket and returns to his own room. Peering into the chipped mirror, he smears dark grease over his freshly shaven cheeks.

He finds Talbert on a makeshift bunk in the corner of a basement crowded with several squads. He knows Randleman is watching as he steps carefully over sleeping men. Trigger sits up as he approaches, ears alert, and Dick reaches out his hand for the dog, who sniffs it and licks tentatively. A Regiment lieutenant had kept the animal for Talbert while they were in Bastogne.

He shakes Talbert’s shoulder gently. “Tab.”

Talbert blinks at him, puzzled. “Captain?”

“Shh. Yes. I need your dog. I’ll bring him back in a few hours.”

“Uh, sure. What’s up?” He blinks again. “You look like you’re going into battle, Cap.”

Randleman picks his way over to them with Martin on his heels, and Powers is now awake in the next bunk. Dick keeps his voice low. “I need to go downriver. Follow a trail. I just need the dog. You all go back to sleep and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

They’re unmoving, and now Luz has joined them in the dim light. He asks, “What’re you looking for, sir?”

Dick scrapes the words out of his throat. “Captain Nixon was captured today.”

The men jerk in surprise and there are a few muttered curses. Powers sits up. “But Captain Nixon, he…well, he always seems to have the answer, sir. If you know what I mean. Gosh, I can’t imagine him getting caught by anyone.”

Dick concentrates on keeping his voice steady. “I need to find out exactly where he was taken.” He pulls the undershirt from his pocket and addresses Talbert. “The dog can track, can’t it?”

Tab’s already pulling on his boots. “Yeah, Trigger’ll find him. You bet.”

“We’ll get our gear and meet you outside, sir,” Randleman whispers.

“No. This isn’t a sanctioned mission. You men all get back to bed. That’s an order.” He takes Trigger’s leash.

“Sir, with all due respect, we’re just going to follow you, so it’ll be easier if we set out together.” Martin’s tone is matter of fact, and he and the others all go about quietly gearing up.

Dick knows he should argue, but he can’t seem to. He feels a rush of pride in these Toccoa men he’s served with, and affection for each of them. He lets Talbert take the dog, and waits outside, studying a map in the moonlight. When the men come, he holds out the undershirt for Trigger, letting him take a good sniff and thanking God that Lew hadn’t done his laundry yet.

They’re about to move out when Roe appears. Dick shakes his head. “Eugene, go back inside.”

“He could be hurt, sir.”

“He’s on the other side of the river. We can’t cross tonight.” As he says the words, Dick knows with certainty that they _will_ cross.

“What if he escaped, and got back across and can’t walk?”

Dick wants to argue, but all he can see is Lew in a ditch, broken and waiting for him.

Roe watches him with those haunted eyes. “It’s Captain Nixon, sir.”

Dick nods. “Stay low, and stay close to Bull.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turns to lead the way, but pauses, looking back. “Thank you, men.”

Luz whispers, “ _Currahee_!” as they surge into the night.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Head down, Trigger leads them along a dirt road parallel to the river. They slip through the night easily, with nothing stirring on the far side of the Moder. Somehow, the dog seems to understand the need for silence, and only pants softly. Lew’s trail weaves away from the river at times, into the forest and then back out again.

In his mind’s eye, Dick can imagine Lew with his maps and pencils, his keen eye for detail and opportunity. They’re just over a mile from Haguenau when Trigger turns down a slight embankment, directly to the river’s edge. Talbert drops to his knee as he raises his hand, and Dick and the men stay close to the ground as they watch Trigger sniffing the small rocks lapped by the frigid water. He chuffs softly, and Talbert crawls forward to lead Trigger back from the water’s edge.

After checking his compass and scrawling in his notebook, Dick examines the stand of thickets and shrubs ten feet downriver where the land dips before the embankment. Randleman speaks quietly. “If they kept low, he wouldn’t’ve seen them ’til it was too late.”

“River narrows here,” Luz adds. “Easier to get across.”

Lew hadn’t been gone long before the Krauts got him. Dick thinks about the afternoon and wonders what he was doing when it happened. Probably trying to appear interested in supply and demand. He peers across the water. There are no buildings in sight. No signs of life. But now he knows for sure, and that’s something, at least.

“Captain.” Roe’s crouched a few feet away, looking down, breath fogging the air.

Dick scoots over and peers at the dark blood spilled in the snow. He takes a long breath and blows it out, and Roe places his hand on Dick’s back for a moment. Dick’s gaze is drawn inexorably across the river, and he wonders about the depth and speed of the current. He’d have to keep his weapon above the water—

“Sir?”

He realizes Talbert is speaking to him. “Yes?”

“I got Trigger to sniff around the area just to be sure, but he keeps going back to the same spot.” Tab gives Trigger a treat from his pocket, scratching behind the dog’s ears.

“Good job.”

Shifty pipes up. “Are we going across?”

The desire to say yes curls his hands into fists, but Dick shakes his head. “No. Have to find out what’s on the other side. The water’s too cold. Need a boat.”

“Heck, a little cold water won’t bother us. Not after Bastogne.” Shifty smiles, and the other men murmur their agreement.

Martin jerks his head in the direction of the other riverbank. “Can be over in a flash. They won’t expect us.”

Dick’s filled again with gratitude for these fine, brave men. “We can’t risk it. Not tonight. Let’s get back before we’re missed. And remember, if anyone finds out about this, you were following my direct orders.”

As they make their way back in the waning moonlight, Dick reviews his options for finding a boat. He hasn’t seen one on either side of the river, but surely a town situated on water would have boats stored somewhere. He tries to keep his mind on strategy and off what might be happening to Lew. Surely the Germans would use threats and intimidation first. Surely he’ll get to Lew in time.

But as the war goes on and German resistance flags, desperation might come into play. The knot in Dick’s empty stomach tightens.

They skirt past potholes and destruction as they return to Haguenau, moving quickly, heads down. Then the air vibrates with the thunder of an incoming shell, and they dive for cover against the closest building as bricks and stones give way. When the dust clears, Trigger yelps, and they gather around him. Tab whispers, “Think he got hit by a brick frag.” He runs his hand over the dog’s flank. “It’s okay, boy.”

Blood drips down behind Trigger’s ear, and he whimpers as Roe gently prods. Eugene murmurs French words Dick doesn’t understand as he treats the wound. The poor dog should be safely asleep, not out in the moonlit night to become a target. None of them should be. Dick looks at all the other men carefully, but they appear uninjured. Trigger trembles as Roe pours sulfa on the gash, but doesn’t make a sound.

When Trigger is bandaged, Dick sends them all back to bed with nods of thanks and hands clapped on shoulders. In the doorway, Roe glances back. “He’ll be just fine, Captain.”

Dick’s not sure if he means Lew or the dog, but he nods and lets himself be reassured.

*

At zero-six-hundred, Dick walks into HQ. He hadn’t been able to even look at his bed, let alone sleep in it. Sink is gathered with the Battalion S-3, and they share a glance before Sink waves him over. “Mornin’, Captain. I was going to brief you later, but since you’re here....” He points to a crudely drawn attack plan on the table. “We’ve got four boats. This is a prisoner snatch.”

Dick’s heart skips a beat. “Prisoner?”

Sink doesn’t look at him. “We need 15 men to cross the river and hit the Kraut OP here.” He taps the page with his finger. “In and out. Show them that if they grab one of ours, by God we’ll take three or four.”

“To what end?” The question is out before he can think.

Brow furrowed, Sink glances up. He ignores the question. “Putting Easy on this. You can get the details from Burchfield here and brief the men later today. Wait until late afternoon.”

“Yes, sir.” One thing they can agree on is giving the men the extra hours of peace.

Sink is called away, and Burchfield goes back to the drawing. Dick interrupts. “Do you have a more detailed map of the area?”

Burchfield unfurls a large map, and Dick’s gaze immediately goes downriver. He listens to the attack plan, which is as straightforward as they come, while he takes in the contours of the land. “Can you tell me more about the OP? Every detail you have.”

As Burchfield rambles on about out-buildings and brickwork, Dick flips open his notebook and begins sketching.

*

All the men have heard about Lew’s capture, and as Dick makes his rounds that morning, sudden silences and sympathetic glances surround him. He concentrates on going about his business as he would on any other day, returning salutes and keeping his expression neutral. His fingers curl around Lew’s undershirt, still folded neatly in his pocket.

*

When he approaches Talbert’s bunk, Trigger perks up, tail wagging, tongue out. Dick squats down and pets him carefully. “He doing okay?”

Tab smiles. “He’s a real trooper, Captain.”

“Fits right in with Easy, then.”

“Sure does.” Tab’s smile fades and he lowers his voice. “Do you have a plan yet?”

“Working on it.”

“Well, just let us know when it’s time.” Tab ruffles the dog’s fur. “We’ll be ready.”

Dick knows he should say that he can’t involve the men and risk their lives again. That he _won’t_. Instead he nods and gives Trigger a pat before moving on.

*

He’s glad it’s Speirs who has to pick the soldiers assigned to the patrol. Dick gives the briefing and pretends it’s just another assignment instead of a ludicrous waste of time that doesn’t bring Lew one step closer back to their side of the river. The patrol means he must wait one more night before crossing the river himself. He tries not to think about the fact that Lew could be hundreds of miles away by now. That he could be dead.

To risk going AWOL, to risk any more Easy Company lives, is wrong. It’s _weak_.

He paces his twelve-foot room as the moon rises over Haguenau. He’d forgotten what a luxury it is to be held; to simply feel the warmth and breath of another person. Until Bastogne and Lew’s foxhole, no one had been so physically close to him in a long time. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine the solid feel of Lew’s body against him, the scratch of his whiskers against his skin.

He accepts his weakness.

*

When he rushes into the basement, screams and shouts echo off the dank walls. Jones bodily drags Vest away from two prisoners, and the rest of the men are gathered around a flailing Jackson. Dick steps out of the way as Roe races in, and goes to take control of the Germans. He orders poor Vest out of the room and calls Webster over.

Then there’s silence, and Jackson is dead.

After Jackson is carried out, Martin approaches to make his report. Dick tells him it isn’t his fault, but knows Martin doesn’t believe it. Dick gets the prisoners on the move, jerking his head for Webster to follow. Bursts of fire come from across the river, artillery exploding as the Germans retaliate too late.

He marches the two men into the abandoned house he and Lew had ducked into — _God, only yesterday_ — and orders them to stand in the corner of what was once a sitting room. To Webster, he barks, “Ask them if they know anything about an American prisoner taken yesterday afternoon. Downriver.”

Webster does as he’s told, and the Germans only stare back blankly. Webster peppers them with further questions, but they shake their heads.

“Ask them if they know where any American prisoners might be held.”

Again, they shake their heads to Webster’s query. Dick takes out his notebook and opens to the map of the German side of the Moder he’d copied that morning. He holds it under their noses, and Webster repeats one of his questions. The Krauts shake their heads once more. This time, Dick pulls his knife, and their eyes widen as they press back against the wall.

Webster doesn’t need to be told to ask them again, and the Germans shake their heads vigorously, eyes jerking from Webster to Dick to the gleaming metal in his hand and back again. When he sheathes the knife, one of the prisoners visibly relaxes. Then Dick removes his pistol from its holster.

“Tell them to get on their knees.”

One of them needs a violent shove from Webster, but they comply, their raised arms shaking. Dick aims for the prisoner on the right, ignoring the nausea roiling in his gut. “Tell them this is their last chance.”

Webster opens his mouth and seems to want to say something else to Dick, but he swallows and fiercely relays the message to the prisoners. They cry out denials that Dick doesn’t need to speak German to understand, and urine spreads over the trousers of the prisoner with Dick’s gun levelled at his head.

Voice small, Webster says, “I really don’t think they know, Captain Winters.”

Dick lowers his arm. “I don’t suppose they would.”

They march the men back to get them holed away for the night before they’re shipped off, and Dick goes back to his room to wait for another sunrise.

*

When he’s told Sink wants another patrol, Dick has to keep his gaze on the horizon for fear he won’t be able to hide his disgust. Then he’s told they’re moving off the line in the morning, and he struggles to hide his despair.

It’s not until he sees the drawn, defeated faces of his men that his plan fully forms, and part of him can’t believe the words are actually coming out of his mouth as he tells them the patrol will be in name only. But it’s not the first thing he’s done recently that he never would have thought possible.

Martin catches his eye as he’s leaving, giving him a quizzical look. Resigned, Dick shakes his head, his decision made as the men’s relief washes over him.

*

Carefully, Dick folds Lew’s dirty laundry and opens his footlocker, skimming his fingers over the items inside. Regulation equipment, a carton of cigarettes. Lew’s dress uniform, wings gleaming. A packet of letters, the one on top bearing the Nixons' return address in a fine, delicate script that must be his mother’s. Perhaps his sister’s.

The flask tucked into the corner is not regulation, of course. Only for Lewis Nixon. Flask in hand, Dick sits on the end of the bed Lew never had a chance to sleep in. Not that he would have. He’d have come to Dick’s room at twenty-two hundred. Come to his bed.

The longing and regret is an ache in his bones. He unscrews the lid and holds the flask to his nose. Lew’s kisses always had the faint taste of whiskey, and although Dick’s never liked alcohol, it somehow tasted sweet on Lew’s tongue. He tips the flask up to his lips and catches just a drop. It burns.

Closing his eyes, he allows himself to pretend.

 _They undress each other slowly with kisses and caresses, baring skin that longs to be touched. Lew smiles and teases like he always does, and Dick teases right back, finally making Lew beg for more — even though he’d never deny him anything._

 _After so long in the cold, they’re finally warm and safe, wrapped in each other, moving as one._

“Sir?”

He looks up to find Roe in the doorway. He clears his throat. “Doc. Everything all right? The men?”

The floor creaks as Roe crosses to the bed and sits beside him, the mattress dipping. “They’re fine, Captain. Nuthin’ to worry yourself over.” His gaze is piercing. “How ’bout you?”

“Are you sure they’re okay after Jackson?” Dick still holds the flask in one hand, the cap in the other.

“As well as can be.”

There’s something in Roe’s tone. “And you, Eugene?”

Roe’s tiny smile is rueful. “I hate it when I don’t save them.”

“You do more than any of us, Doc.” He debates a moment before going on. “Sink wants another patrol tonight. Same plan, just an hour later. Get more prisoners, as if that’ll make up for it.” As if that’ll get Lew back across the river.

Roe doesn’t comment, but his shoulders sag.

“They’re not going. I told them to get a good night’s sleep and lie to me in the morning.”

Roe’s silent for a long moment. “You a good man.”

Snorting softly, Dick shakes his head.

“I know you and Nixon are….”

Breath frozen, Dick thinks of that morning in Bastogne and what Doc saw through the mist. He should be ashamed, but when he examines Roe’s weary face, there’s no judgement or revulsion there. Only a quiet compassion.

“Close,” he finishes.

Dick forces himself to breath again, and they sit in silence. Finally he says, “There’s good news, Gene. We’re moving off the line tomorrow.”

“Good news for most, that’s for sure.” Roe reaches over and pries the flask from Dick’s fingers. He screws on the lid tightly. “Still a long night ahead for some.”

“No. I can’t risk lives again. There’s not enough to go on. He’s probably long gone now.” Dick stands and places the pile of Lew’s laundry into the footlocker before fastening the lid. He runs his fingertips over the battered surface. “Taking this with me. I’ll keep it safe for him.”

There’s a knock on the half-open door, and Jones sticks his head in. “Captain, I was wondering if I could have a word?”

“About what?” Dick wonders too late if Jones will be a problem.

Jones glances at Roe, who stands and excuses himself, the flask still in his hand. “I’ll keep this for you, sir.” Then he’s gone, closing the door behind him before Dick can thank him for anything.

Dick bites back a weary sigh. “Jones, I understand you might be confused about my orders to the men about the patrol, but—”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

“Then what?”

“I was at HQ and a few of the officers visiting from Regiment were talking. They…well, people seem to speak around me as if I’m not there,” he finishes sheepishly. He opens his jacket and pulls out a map. “They were talking about a building down the river and a mile inland. Some kind of Gestapo holding location. An interrogation site.”

Dick’s heart pounds as he takes the map. “Go on, Lieutenant Jones.”

“They mentioned a Captain Nixon, and their suspicion that he’s being held there. They were regretful that a rescue mission had been deemed too risky. I understand the captain is a friend of yours. I thought you might like to know, sir.”

“Yes.” His pulse races. “Thank you.”

There are footsteps in the hall, and a knock at the door. Luz’s voice calls out. “Captain Winters? Can we have a word?”

Jones waits for Dick’s nod, and opens the door. Luz, Powers, Martin, Randleman, and Talbert stream in. They eye Jones with suspicion, but Dick claps the young man on the back. “Lieutenant Jones here has acquired some intelligence.”

He’s about to tell Randleman to close the door when Speirs appears, keen eyes taking in the scene. He shuts the door decisively. Then he smiles, razor-sharp. “You didn’t think you were going without me this time, did you?”

*

They quietly fill out the roster throughout the evening, man by man on a strictly volunteer basis, until Liebgott, Webster, Christenson, Garcia, Heffron and Ramirez crowd into Lew’s billet along with Luz, Powers, Martin, Randleman, Talbert, Jones and Speirs.

Despite their exhaustion and fear, none hesitated. Lipton, missing nothing, arrives before midnight, but Dick sends him back to his bunk. Aside from the fact that Lipton is still feverish and coughing badly, Easy needs a good leader if they don’t make it, and Dick can’t think of any better. After being told that, Lipton reluctantly follows orders.

As they creep out in pairs to retrieve the boats and take them downriver, Dick glances back to find Roe watching from the shadows, Trigger at his feet. Doc salutes, and tells Dick without saying a word that he’ll be waiting.


	3. Chapter 3

_“So I said to the captain: Does it really make sense to put us on latrine duty? I mean, we’re here training to be officers, and as far as I know, officers are the ones who assign latrine duty to the other suckers. Is it just so we know how god-awful it is? Because I think we can all imagine it vividly.”_

 _Mouth full, Dick lowers his fork as the dark-haired man plops down across from him in the mess hall. Dick glances around, wondering if the soldier’s mistaken him for someone he knows._

 _“Don’t we have more important things to learn here at Benning? Last time I checked, there’s a war on, and we all know it’s only a matter of time before we join in. We’re not going to beat the Nazis scrubbing toilets.”_

 _Dick swallows the mouthful of gelatinous slop that he thinks is supposed to be meatloaf. “Did the captain agree with your assessment?”_

 _“Strangely enough, he didn’t. I thought I had a really good point. But I’ll be able to ponder the issue further while I scrub toilets for the next two weeks.” He looks down at his plate and sighs heavily. “What I wouldn’t give for a ribeye from Gallagher’s on Fifty-second. You ever been?”_

 _Dick assumes he’s talking about New York City, and shakes his head._

 _“The steak just melts in your mouth.” The other man takes a bite of the mess on his plate and grimaces. “The sad part is that once we’re over there, we’ll probably look back on these meals wistfully.”_

 _Dick has to smile. “Probably.”_

 _“Oh.” He extends his arm across the table. “Almost forgot. Lewis Nixon.”_

 _Clasping Lewis Nixon’s hand in his own, Dick nods. “Richard Winters.”_

*

“Dick.”

He focuses on Speirs crouching beside him in the brush. They’re downriver from Haguenau now, waiting until zero-two-hundred to cross. “Garcia volunteered to swim the rope across.” Speirs glances up. “Clouds are rolling in. We could get lucky.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“Garcia’s going in three minutes. Shouldn’t take him long; says he’s a fast swimmer.”

“Very good.” They’re not wearing helmets or anything else that could reflect light, and Dick brushes a stray lock of hair back from his blackened forehead.

Speirs hesitates before speaking again. “You know you’re AWOL. As commanding officer, it’ll all be on you, no matter what the rest of us say.”

“I realize that. Captain Speirs, if you’re having doubts….”

Speirs’ lips curve in one of his enigmatic smiles. “No.”

*

 _Eyes closed, Dick sighs as the water streams over him. The others have all finished their showers, in a rush to put on their dress uniforms and head into town on the first weekend pass they’ve had since they arrived at Fort Benning. But Dick’s in no hurry._

 _He expects everyone to be gone by the time he returns to the barracks, towel slung around his neck. He’s only wearing his trousers, and the sun on his damp back makes him think of summers by the pond, a deep little circle of water nestled in a corner of his family’s farm by a stand of weeping willows._

 _He blinks in surprise as he walks into the barracks. “Nixon?”_

 _“There you are. Hurry up, slow poke.” Nixon’s dress uniform is sharply pressed and fitted. After a few moments, he glances down at himself. “What? Did I miss a button?” He smoothes his hand down his jacket._

 _“No, no. You look….”_

 _Lewis’ grin crinkles the corner of his eyes. “Dashing? Devastatingly handsome? Heroic?”_

 _“Fine.”_

 _“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. Now come on, stop standing around and get dressed.”_

 _“It’s okay, you go ahead.”_

 _“Nah, I can wait. Just stop dragging your feet.”_

 _Dick sits on his bunk and runs the towel over his hair. “I’m staying here. You go on and have fun.”_

 _“What? What are you talking about? You’re not staying here.”_

 _“I really just want some time to myself. Peace and quiet’s a lot more appealing to me than carousing.” He runs the towel over his arms before jerking in surprise as Lew places his palm on Dick’s forehead. It’s warm, but strangely sends a shiver down Dick’s spine. Chuckling, he bats Nixon away. “I’m not sick. Go on, get out of here.”_

 _“But….”_

 _Dick lies back on his bunk, arms behind his head. “Go on. Trust me, I’ll be happier here.”_

 _Lewis sighs and picks up his hat. “If you weren’t so stubborn I’d try and change your mind, but I guess I’ll just have to go entertain those southern belles all on my own. Now don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”_

 _Once he’s alone, the silence somehow isn’t as soothing as Dick expected._

*

Garcia enters the water with barely a ripple. They all wait out of sight beyond the embankment, and as the seconds tick by, it feels like hours. Dick waits for the soft chirp of the brass cricket that indicates the rope is secure. When it comes, he doesn’t hesitate, leading the men down to the water’s edge.

Jones, Talbert and Shifty are in Dick’s boat, with Speirs bringing up the rear. They enter the water and yank themselves across with quiet efficiency. Dick waits for bullets to fly, but the only sounds in the night are small splashes and the men’s harsh breathing.

Garcia waits on the far side, shivering in his shorts. Shifty gives him the rest of his uniform, but Garcia struggles to button his shirt. He grimaces. “Sorry, Captain. Knew the water was cold, but….” His teeth chatter. “Don’t think I can carry my gun. Fingers don’t seem to work right.”

“It’s okay.” Dick glances back across the water. “Think you’ll make it back on your own? Go get Roe to take a look at you.”

“No, sir. Can’t go back in that water. Arms and legs don’t wanna do what you tell them to when it’s that cold.”

Dick takes off his coat and wraps it around Garcia’s shoulders. “Get your boots on and wait here. Stick your hands in your armpits and try to warm up. We won’t be too long. Stay low, and stay quiet.”

“I’ve got my own coat, sir. It’s freezing tonight; you’ll need yours.”

But Dick’s already moving forward, the men falling in behind him. They leave Garcia hidden in the shrubs, and Dick doesn’t even feel the cold as he leads the way into the forest. He’s hyperaware, all senses on alert, the sound of blood rushing in his ears. There’s no sign of any enemy in the area, and they travel onward, boots crunching in the snow.

*

 _The short, white-haired woman waddles out of her office at the ring of the bell and pushes her glasses up her nose. “You’re late.”_

 _Lew leans on the wooden counter and gives her a cheeky smile. “I didn’t realize we had a date, Lou Ann.”_

 _Lou Ann snorts, but smiles in return. “Only one room left. You’ll have to share.”_

 _“Nix, I’ll just go back to the base. You go on and have fun,” Dick says._

 _“Are you kidding me? We graduated today, and we are going to celebrate. One night out’ll be good for you.” He pulls out a wad of cash and peels off a few bills. “We’ll take it, Lou Ann.”_

 _“But Nix....” Dick lowers his voice as the woman shuffles off to retrieve their key. “Won’t you want to…spend time with a lady?” He can feel the tips of his ears go red._

 _Lew scoffs. “I’ve spent time with all the ladies in this town I want to. Except Lou Ann, of course.” He winks at her as he takes the key, and then leads Dick out of the simple, faded lobby. “This is our night.”_

 _He follows Lew into the bar at the end of the dusty block, where Lew orders him a soda and tells the barkeep to mind his manners when the man shoots Dick a disparaging look. Lew’s the only one who’s never asked Dick why he doesn’t drink. He teases sometimes, but there’s no bite to it._

 _They talk and laugh with their fellow graduates, and Dick surprises himself by having a good time. As the night goes on, the men break away and dance with the girls who flock around them with eager smiles and bright eyes. He and Lew stay holed up in a corner, where Lew sucks back whiskey and tells Dick stories about New York and San Francisco, and places Dick will probably never go unless a war takes him there._

 _Lew’s off-key singing probably wakes the whole town, but Dick can only laugh as they make their way back to the hotel. Lew slings his arm around Dick’s shoulders, leaning into him as they navigate the stairs. A chair, nightstand and double bed are squeezed inside the four walls of their room._

 _The shared bathroom is at the end of the hall, and when Dick returns, Lew is sprawled on his stomach in his shorts and undershirt. Dick examines the wooden chair, but sleeping in it will make for a very long night, so he nudges Lew’s leg. “Nix. Shove over.”_

 _Lew mutters and opens his eyes. “Oh, hi. You’re here.”_

 _“Yes, Lew, I’m here.” Dick takes off his boots and folds his uniform over the chair before edging his way onto the bed, poking Lew in the side._

 _“But you never come out with me.”_

 _“Well, I did tonight.”_

 _Lew smiles blearily. “Good friend,” he murmurs._

 _Lying on his back, Dick listens to Lew’s soft snore. When Lew rolls over, his palm lands on Dick’s stomach. It’s warm through the cotton of Dick’s t-shirt, and Lew’s face is so close he can feel soft exhales of breath on his neck. Lew is fast asleep, and Dick doesn’t elbow him back to his side of the bed. There’s no sense in waking him._

*

They slip through the night, keeping to the shadows of the silent forest. Every so often there’s a distant sound of thunder from Haguenau, but it seems a world away. Jones’ intel is good, and a mile inland, the edge of a clearing appears. Dick drops to his knee, arm raised. He signals Talbert to hold steady, and crawls forward to peer around a thick tree trunk.

A light glows from the upper window of a farmhouse. The building appears unaffected by the war, as if the tall pine trees around it somehow shield it from the sight of the bombers. If Dick didn’t know better, he’d think they’d stumbled upon a peaceful family home. He can just make out the front tire of a military jeep parked around the other side.

An angry burst of noise shatters the calm, and Dick’s finger tightens on the trigger of his rifle. The German shouts are muffled by the walls of the house, but the answering cry of agony that echoes across the snow needs no translation.

*

 _“Dick?”_

 _He tries to respond, but can only groan. He’s sitting on the floor of the dimly lit latrine, leaning against the wooden wall because he can’t stand up and doesn’t want to lie down. His shorts and t-shirt stick to his clammy, flushed skin._

 _Lew peers around the stall and curses under his breath as he crouches down. “Jesus. Should I go wake a medic? You look like hell.”_

 _Dick shakes his head, and the movement makes his stomach roil anew. “You should be asleep.”_

 _“Yeah, well, you’ve been gone a long time.” He glances in the toilet and grimaces. “Got anything left to come up?”_

 _“Stomach’s turned inside out.” Dick scrapes the words out of his throat. “But every time I think it’s over, there’s more.”_

 _Lew disappears, and Dick hears water running. When Lew returns, he’s bare-chested, dog tags clinking together as he folds his wet undershirt into a square. Kneeling down, he gently swipes the soft material over Dick’s forehead and cheeks. “No one else is sick. I think Sobel poisoned your rations on that march today.”_

 _Dick wants to laugh, but can only manage to twitch his lips. Another wave of nausea hits, and he struggles to his knees over the toilet, coughing and heaving as his body tries to expel every last drop. Lew pats his back, and when it’s over — at least for the moment — helps him lean against the wall again._

 _“You need some water.”_

 _“I’ll just throw it up.”_

 _Lew dabs Dick’s face with his damp shirt again, frowning as he leans in. He brushes his fingertips under Dick’s eye. “I’ll be right back, okay?”_

 _Dick closes his eyes, willing his stomach to stop rebelling. It’s not long before Lew returns, this time with Roe on his heels. Dick huffs. “Told you I’m fine.” Roe needs all the sleep he can get; all the men do._

 _They both ignore him. Lew points to Dick’s face. “See what I mean? Thought they were just his freckles at first, but it looks like blood.”_

 _Roe squats down and peers closely. “Yup. Little hemorrhages. It’s the pressure — bendin’ over and heavin’. They’ll heal in a few days.”_

 _“You sure?” Lew doesn’t seem convinced._

 _“I’m sure. Nuthin’ much anyone can do ’till he gets out all that needs to come.” Roe smiles kindly at Dick. “Try to drink a little. Can’t get too dehydrated.”_

 _Lew’s at the sink, running the water again. He returns with a canteen. “Don’t worry, I rinsed all the whiskey out.” He holds it up to Dick’s lips, waiting patiently._

 _After Dick takes a tiny sip, he clears his throat and attempts the most authoritative tone he can muster given his state. “Roe, get back to bed. That’s an order.” Roe and Lew share a glance, and Eugene murmurs something on his way out. Dick glares at Lew. “You, too.”_

 _Dropping down, Lew leans back against the wall beside him and lifts the canteen. “Oh, shut up and take another sip.”_

*

The rest of the volunteer assault team — Speirs, Randleman, Luz, Heffron and Webster, who’d insisted on going — move into position behind Dick. Martin is in charge of the rest of the squad, and Jones doesn’t argue.

God, or fate, or perhaps just Mother Nature is with them, and the clouds have obscured the moon and stars. After forcing a deep breath in and out of his lungs, Dick springs into action, staying low as they approach the side of the house. The bottom level remains in darkness, and the only noises come from upstairs. They press against the side of the building, listening intently.

Speirs comes alongside Dick, and they peek through a window at an empty living room. A dim light not visible from outside emanates from what must be the kitchen on the other side of the house. Crouching back down, they share a look. Speirs unsheathes his knife, and Dick nods.

He’ll do whatever it takes to get Lew back; slit any throats he has to. But Speirs will do it better.

They creep forward to the edge of the house, peering around to see how many guards stand out front. Amazingly enough, none do. Speirs raises his eyebrows and continues on. It takes him almost a full minute to edge open the wooden door, which is somehow unlocked.

Dick marvels at the arrogance of these particular enemies, who apparently feel they have nothing to fear this far behind the line. As Speirs creeps in, Dick can sense his own jangled nerves and tensed muscles echoed in the men at his heels. Pulse racing, he waits either for Speirs to return, or hell to break loose.

*

 _As the sun sets over Toccoa, most of the guys head to the showers after their basketball game, but Dick walks in the other direction. Somehow he knows the footsteps behind him are Lew’s even before Lew calls out. “You’re going the wrong way.”_

 _“Just feel like a run.”_

 _Lew jogs up to him. They’re both in their PT gear, sweat glistening on their skin. “Where? Up_ there _? Dick, we already ran Currahee today. And yesterday. And the day before that. And before that, and last week and—”_

 _“I feel like doing it again.”_

 _“Just struck by the urge, huh?”_

 _“Go relax. I’ll be fine on my own.” As they leave the camp behind, he moves into a jog, the dirt under his sneakers still soft from the morning rain._

 _But Lew follows, and they keep pace as they power steadily up the hill. The humid night settles around them, and cicadas sing over the sounds of their heavy breathing. Halfway up, Dick forces his legs to go faster, and Lew falls a few steps behind. Then he gets another wind and passes Dick, and they spur each other on all the way to the top._

 _Lungs burning, he slaps the rock and checks his watch, Lew a heartbeat behind him. They walk in circles, panting, and Dick tips his head back. He wonders if it’s Gemini above them, or some other constellation he can’t name._

 _Lew sucks in a breath and blows it out. “Just felt like it, huh?” His eyes twinkle as brightly as the stars._

 _Dick chuckles sheepishly. “I wanted to beat his time,” he admits._

 _“And did you?”_

 _The flush of satisfaction is petty, he knows. “By ten seconds.”_

 _Lew throws his arm around Dick’s waist and spins him in a little jig. “Well, let’s make it twenty. Hi-ho silveeer!” Lew practically dives back down the mountain, laughter echoing in the trees that stand sentry as Dick grins and follows._

*

Speirs emerges in the doorway like an apparition, dark blood dripping from his blade. They follow him inside, gathering at the foot of the stairs. German voices murmur from somewhere above. Dick tests the floorboards, which will surely creak under their weight, especially with Bull along. He motions for Bull to take the rear, and for everyone to wait for his signal, which will be a grenade or gunfire or some combination thereof.

He holds his breath as he inches up the stairs. Halfway up he freezes, heart thumping, when a heavily accented voice barks out, “The location!”

There’s silence, and then Lew’s jagged cry. Fingers clenched around his weapon, it’s all Dick can do not to storm up the rest of the stairs. He takes another step, and then another, freezing again when Lew’s strained voice echoes down the stairs. “I told you guys that really tickles.”

Dick’s heart swells with affection and relief and rage, and he gets to the upstairs hallway and pulls the pin on his smoke grenade. Light spills out of the room two doors down, and he rushes forward, peering in for a split second to see where Lew is before lobbing the grenade toward the opposite side of the large room. He opens fire at the nearest German, who coughs and waves one hand as the red smoke rises, the other hand reaching for his weapon too late.

The rest of the team thunders up the stairs with bayonets fixed, streaming into the chaos. Dick leaves the other Germans — four or five, he thinks — for his capable men and rushes to where Lew is strung up against the wall by his battered wrists. His head lolls, and there’s a dripping gash across his forehead. Bruises and cuts mar Lew’s bare chest, his dog tags twisted around his neck.

The cloying red smoke chokes them all now, and Heffron rushes to Dick’s side, reaching up to saw through one of the ropes binding Lew’s wrists. Dick crouches down to see if Lew’s legs are bound, and his boots slide in something underfoot. He realizes with a twist of his gut that it’s salt, poured all over the floor under Lew’s slashed and bleeding bare feet.

Gunfire erupts outside, and Bull goes to work on the other rope as Luz shouts, “We’ve got company!”

Lew struggles to raise his head, and Dick takes his face in his hands. Blood rushes down Lew’s cheek and alongside his nose, but as their eyes meet, he manages a little smile.

Chest warm, Dick smiles back. “Going my way?”


	4. Chapter 4

All Dick wants to do is hold Lew close and breathe him in, warm and alive, but the advancing gunfire outside and the shouts of his men spur him into action. Stepping over the bodies of the bastards who’d tortured Lew, Dick half carries him out of the room. Every movement must be agony on Lew’s slashed and salted feet, but he keeps up valiantly.

Speirs, Luz, Webster and Talbert race ahead of them downstairs to the living room to smash the windows and return fire on the nearing Germans. Dick sets Lew down on the bottom stair and lifts a canteen to his lips. Lew coughs and chokes, but drinks desperately.

Speirs glances over. “Got them pinned down to the trees on the east side. Martin and the others should be flanking up the right any minute now.” His gaze flicks down to Lew. “How is he?”

“Never better,” Lew replies, swiping at the blood that's dripped into his beard. “Good to see you crazy sons of bitches.”

The men grin, and Luz calls back, “Good to see you, sir.”

Despite his bravado, Lew leans heavily against Dick’s leg where Dick stands beside him. When Dick moves to take his coat off, he realizes he’s not wearing it. Randleman’s already doffed his and hands it over before he and Heffron join the others by the windows. Dick wraps the coat around Lew’s battered body, gently putting his arms through the long sleeves.

When he picks up Lew’s left hand, a strangled cry escapes Lew’s throat. Dick peers closely in the dark, his stomach churning as he makes out the broken and swollen fingers. Lew tries to smile. “First day they gave me a pen and paper and told me to give them all the codes I know. Used my left hand so they’d break that first when they realized the lyrics to ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ aren’t good for anything but cutting a rug.”

The urge to kiss him is fierce, but as the gunfire outside increases, Dick forces himself to stay focused. He finishes getting the coat on Lew as Speirs barks at the others to get ready to run. “Rest of the squad’s laying down suppressive fire. Moving out!”

Randleman heaves Lew over his shoulder before they race out of the farmhouse and back the way they came. Bullets whiz overhead and all around in the cacophony of gunfire, shattering glass and strident German voices as Martin and the other men trade gunfire with the enemy. Dick keeps a slower pace with Bull, who rumbles steadily across the clearing carrying Lew.

The clouds remain thick overhead, and they get lucky — returning to the forest without taking a hit. The Germans will surely pursue, and they run on as Martin and the others catch up, darting around trees as they head back to the river. Lew doesn’t make a sound on Bull’s back, and Dick thinks he’s likely lost consciousness, which is for the best.

Bull breathes heavily but never wavers, his grip on Lew unshakeable. The men lob grenades behind them, keeping their pursuers at a disadvantage. The dark forest seems unending as they push on, outdistancing the Germans who never had to run Currahee.

The river appears suddenly, and Garcia is ready with the boats. They pile on, Dick throwing himself in after Bull and Lew, reaching up for the rope. The enemy charges toward them, still unseen, and as the boats clear the riverbank, covering fire erupts from the Allied side, a machine gun roaring. Dick and Bull yank on the rope, Lew fighting for consciousness between them.

They’re more than halfway across when the Germans return fire, and the only sound Bull makes as a bullet tears into him is a surprised grunt. He cradles his injured arm to his chest, struggling to keep his balance, and Dick makes a desperate grab for Lew as they all topple over into the frigid river.

The shock of the icy water seizes Dick’s muscles, and he clings to Lew as they plummet under the surface. He kicks his legs, but Lew thrashes in his arms, now fully awake and panicking. They sink as they struggle, Dick’s lungs burning as his instincts cry out for him to let go and save himself.

He clutches Lew tighter, fighting to get them to the surface. Bull’s big coat is a leaden weight, and Dick’s boots are anchors on his feet. His heart hammers painfully against his ribs as the air in his lungs runs out, the current conspiring to hold them under as Lew suddenly goes still.

Then strong hands haul them up, and Dick gasps as he emerges, sucking in sweet oxygen. It’s somehow Malarkey who has a firm grip on him, and Wynn drags a sputtering Lew toward the shore. “Bull!” Dick’s voice is hoarse, and he swallows water as he turns frantically, scanning the water, bullets still shrieking overhead.

“They got ’im,” Malarkey shouts, tugging Dick onto the riverbank.

The others scramble up the embankment, and Dick can make out Lipton and Grant manning a machine gun, providing covering fire. Martin and Christenson drag Bull’s bulky frame to safety, and Dick grasps one of Lew’s arms as Speirs dives back down to the river’s edge to help haul them up.

They pull back away from the river and out of range. Of course, Roe is waiting among the trees and not in Haguenau as ordered, and he’s already tearing open Bull’s shirt. Lew shakes in the snow, barely awake, and Dick drops to his knees by his side. He wants to take Lew in his arms and carry him to safety, but he’s trembling, too, body rigid with cold.

Tail wagging, Trigger appears at Dick’s side to lick his face. “Hi, boy.” Dick flexes his frozen fingers and scratches the dog’s back.

Roe pours sulfa on Bull’s wound, ignoring Bull’s insistence that he’s fine. He glances over at Lew and barks, “Get him on the stretcher. Gotta get you all back to town.”  
Liebgott and Jones rush the stretcher over, nudging Dick and Malarkey out of the way.

Dick tears his focus away from Lew. “You’re supposed to be resting, Sergeant.”

Malarkey’s teeth chatter. “And let you boys have all the fun? Nah. Lip was feeling better, and we all thought it was a nice night for a walk. Besides, would be a shame to go to all this trouble to rescue Nixon just to see him drown.”

It feels woefully inadequate, but all Dick can say is, “Thank you.”

Roe crouches by Lew as the others roll him onto the stretcher. “Any major wounds?” He peels off the sodden coat and runs his hands over Lew’s bruised and torn flesh. When he seems satisfied, he nods to the men. “All of you who were in the water, get your coats and shirts off, wrap them around your waist, and huddle up with someone dry as we go.”

Liebgott and Webster carry the stretcher, and Speirs supports Bull as they double time it back to Haguenau. Lipton’s still wracked by coughs, but he yanks Dick to his side, arm firm around Dick’s bare back as they jog behind the stretcher. “Good thing you don’t listen to orders, Lip,” Dick mutters with a shaky smile.

“Thought you might need some support with the withdrawal, sir.”

“Didn’t want to bring anyone else into it. Already enough men risking their lives and disobeying the colonel.”

“Well, in for a penny….”

Eyes on the stretcher ahead, Dick nods his agreement.

*

Haguenau is eerily silent, and Dick wonders when the Germans will retaliate. The Gestapo doesn’t take defeat lightly. The men scatter back to their bunks to clean up and get warm, and Dick dismisses Webster and Liebgott after they carry Lew to Dick’s room, since another officer is moving into Lew’s unused billet in the morning.

Roe strips off Lew’s sodden trousers and shorts with economical movements, and Dick takes a deep breath as he sees the bruises and marks on Lew’s body in the bright light of the lamp by the bed. Dick wraps his arms around his stomach, and Roe glances at him. “You need to wash your face and get into a dry uniform.”

Dick nods, but doesn’t move from Lew’s side. Lipton, still hovering, puts a firm hand on Dick’s shoulder and leads him to the washstand. “It’ll only take a minute. Can’t let anyone see you with grease on your face, Captain.”

Acquiescing, Dick closes his eyes while Lipton scrubs his face with a wet towel. He keeps his gaze on Lew as he quickly pulls on dry ODs, and clears his throat before addressing Lipton. “Thank you for your service tonight. Now get some rest. We have a big morning ahead of us.”

Lipton nods. “Yes, sir.” His eyes flick over to Lew, who mumbles, eyes closed, as Roe gently prods him. “Good to have you both back in one piece.”

Dick closes the door behind Lipton, and then it’s just the three of them. He kneels beside the bed, and Lew’s eyes open as he speaks, his voice raw. “Sorry.”

Blinking in surprise, Dick shakes his head. “For what?”

“Getting caught. Almost drowning you. Lot of things.”

“Not your fault, Nix.” Dick longs to touch him, and he curls his fingers into fists on the side of the mattress. He can’t stop a frustrated sigh.

“You better take his hand.” Roe barely glances up from examining Lew’s brutalized feet. “Hold on real tight, ’cause there’s a lotta hurt here.”

It’s uncanny, the way Roe seems to read people’s minds sometimes. Dick smoothes his palm over Lew’s head, brushing back his thick hair. With his other hand, he squeezes Lew’s unbroken fingers. He supposes it’s nothing out of the ordinary for Roe — when men are injured or dying, their friends comfort them.

Lew grips his hand. “Barely let me sleep.” His voice is so hoarse it sounds painful.

“Shh. It’s all right.”

“But when I did, I dreamt you were there. Didn’t think you really would be. Didn’t think you could be.”

“Who’s gonna drink the last bottle of Vat 69 in my footlocker? Been lugging it around for months.”

Lew tries to laugh, but grimaces instead. “I thought I might never see you again.”

“I’m right here.” He wants to kiss him so badly, and maybe Doc wouldn’t care, but Dick resists. “You should know that we weren’t exactly following orders tonight. Sink wanted a prisoner snatch, and we had our own idea.”

Lew reaches up and touches Dick’s cheek. He frowns like he’s remembering something. “That’s why you had to wash your face.”

“Yeah. So just play along.”

“You all did that for me?”

Dick just smiles and gives him a look that says Lew should know better than even ask. Lew’s eyes shine, and he closes them as Roe moves to the other side of the bed. He prods Lew’s ribcage gently.

“A couple feel broken.” The bruises and cuts on Lew’s torso are accompanied by patches of blackened skin, and Roe points to one area on Lew’s stomach. “How’d they do that?”

“Clever bastards had a little machine. Electric. Metal ends. They were gonna use it on my balls next.”

Dick thinks for a moment that he’s joking, but realizes with a sickening lurch that he’s not. Roe quickly gives Lew’s groin a once over, then covers his lower half with a blanket. To Dick, he says, “We should get him to the hospital. Feet need sewin’ up, ribs need bindin’, fingers settin’. All these wounds cleaned and bandaged.”

Lew winces as he shakes his head. “I like it here. You can do all that, Doc.”

“Well, I can, but a doctor’ll do it better.”

“No. I want you.”

Dick nods in agreement. “He’s in good hands with you, Eugene.”

“All right. Gonna give you some morphine now, Captain. You need the sleep.”

Lew gazes at Dick as Roe injects the syrette. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“I’ll be right here, Nix.” He squeezes his hand.

It’s only a few seconds before Lew goes under, lips parted, body still. Roe sets out his equipment at the foot of the bed and threads a needle. “Haven’t done many stitches before.”

“Can I help?”

“Need some water. Gotta make sure all the salt’s washed out of the wounds.”

Dick fills a basin and works quietly beside Roe, rinsing the gashes on the soles of Lew’s feet. As Roe begins stitching, voices murmur outside the door. Dick edges it open to find Easy men crowded into the hallway. Powers speaks up. “How’s he doing, sir?”

“He’ll be just fine. You all need to get to your racks.” He focuses on Bull, who leans against the wall. “Especially you, Sergeant. Did Spina examine your wound?”

Bull nods. “Just a scratch.”

“You should still be resting,” Martin mutters.

“You should _all_ be resting. Remember, we’re moving off the line in the morning, boys. Need to look sharp. A long day of travel’s in store. I’ll pass on your regards to Captain Nixon.”

They shuffle off, and Dick leans against the door once he’s closed it. “Guess I should send a message to Colonel Sink. Tell him where Lew is, since I’m sure he’ll hear about it as soon as he wakes up.”

“No need, really.” Roe narrows his eyes in concentration as he stitches Lew’s feet. “He’ll come here first thing, I expect. If we’re ever lookin’ for one of you, just have to find the other, and there you’ll be. Been like that since Toccoa.”

He supposes it has. “Do you think….” He just got Lew back, and the thought that they could face a new threat from their own ranks makes Dick swallow hard, fear prickling his skin. “Do they know?”

Roe looks at him then. “No, don’t expect so. Think I see things a little more clearly than most.”

“Why is that, Eugene?”

He goes back to work, knotting off a row of neat stitches. “I have an uncle. Sid. Went away to New Orleans when I was thirteen. He and his pal Joey used to take me fishin’ out on the bayou. We’d sit out there for hours in the mornings, then fry up some of what we caught. Take my momma the rest. They were real good to me, all my life.” He goes quiet for a few moments before continuing. “One night there was a disturbance; lotta hollerin’. Bunch of men all worked up into a kind of rage I didn’t know existed.”

Dick’s breath is lodged in his throat. He waits for Roe to continue.

“Gators probably got Joey if there was anythin’ left of him. Daddy convinced them to spare Uncle Sid, but told him to never even dream of coming home again.” He snips another length of thread and starts on another gash as Lew sleeps on, undisturbed. “All this death; I watch these boys suffer and bleed. Day in, day out. The way I see it, there’s nuthin’ wrong with a little comfort.”

Swallowing hard, Dick takes a moment to speak. “I’m glad to know you, Gene.”

Roe looks at him with those dark, fathomless eyes. “I’m gonna go to New Orleans if I make it back. Look Uncle Sid up. Shoulda done it years ago.”

“You’ll make it back.”

Roe’s lips twitch in a smile. “Hope so, Captain.” He finishes one of Lew’s feet and goes to work on the other. “Need some fresh water.”

Dick rinses out the bowl and pours another from the jug. As Roe stitches, Dick kneels at Lew’s side, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

*

“Well, I’ll be damned. Look what the cat dragged in.”

It’s zero-seven-hundred, and Colonel Sink stands in the doorway of Dick’s room, Speirs behind him. On the bed, Lew’s groggy, but he attempts a salute, which makes Sink bark out a laugh. “Good to see you, Captain Nixon. At ease.”

Dick stands beside the bed. “Sir, the patrol encountered—”

Sink waves his hand. “No need, Dick. Captain Speirs here filled me in. He’s already written up an excellent report. Quick with the paperwork, unlike someone else I know.”

They all chuckle, and Dick clasps his hands behind his back to hide his sweaty palms.  
Sink regards him evenly. “Hell of a lucky coincidence, that patrol stumbling across Captain Nixon.”

“Yes, sir.” Dick’s never been a good liar, but he holds Sink’s gaze steadily.

Sink nods and goes to the other side of the bed, where he gives Lew’s shoulder a squeeze. “Good to see you again, son. We’ll talk more when you can join us in Germany.” He glances at Dick. “Shouldn’t Captain Nixon be in the hospital?”

“Actually, sir, he’s going to ship out with us to Stürzelberg. He’s been cleared for travel.”

“Has he indeed?”

Roe speaks up from the back of the room. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. We’ll be moving out at thirteen-hundred hours. In the meantime, I believe you’ve got a battlefield commission to formally present to Mr. Lipton.” Sink digs in his pocket, pulling out a small box. “And I’ve got a little something here for you, Dick.”

Dick takes the proffered box, smiling when he sees the oak leaves inside. “Thank you, Colonel.”

Sink salutes and takes his leave, Speirs following suit and shooting a small, closed-mouth smile over his shoulder. Dick sends Roe off, but he’s sure Roe will check up on Bull and the others, and will be back sooner rather than later — no matter how much rest Dick orders him to get.

“Alone at last. And conscious.” Lew’s still sleepy and a bit dazed, but he smiles. “Barely.”

Kneeling at his side once more, Dick is finally able to lean over and press their lips together softly. But he has to take a shaky breath, and he sits back on his heels. “Nix, I….”

Lew reaches up with his right hand, brushing Dick’s lips with his fingertips. “Remember the day you volunteered for the paratroopers?”

“Yeah, of course. It was the same day you volunteered.”

“Told myself that if anyone would get me through the war, it would be Richard Winters.”

“Lew, I couldn’t do it without you.” He swallows thickly. “ _Can’t_.”

Thankfully they hear the eager, uneven footsteps thumping in the hall, and when Harry bursts through the door, Dick’s safely perched on a wooden chair in the corner, retying his boots. Harry grins. “Looks like I got back just in time, huh?”

Lew and Dick share a smile, and welcome their friend home.

*

Lew winces as he settles on the four-poster bed, propped up to a half-sitting position with pillows. “Well, if there’s one thing Germany has going for it, it’s the accommodations. These Nazis have style.”

The winding, roundabout journey to Stürzelberg took three days. Lew slept through the vast majority of it, stretched out in the back seat of Dick’s jeep, Roe riding shotgun. Dick leans Lew’s crutches against the wall before pouring a tumbler of brandy. “Sorry. No whiskey downstairs.” Lew had gifted his last bottle to Speirs and the men who rescued him.

“This is fine.”

Frowning, Dick presses the back of his hand against Lew’s forehead.

Lew laughs and turns his head. “I’m all right.”

“Hungry?”

“No.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Think you’re up for a sponge bath, Nurse Winters?”

“If the patient promises to cooperate.”

“When have I ever been uncooperative?

Dick snorts. “Do you want that list alphabetically, or by date?”

He calls downstairs for his orderly, dismissing the young man after he promptly brings up soap and a basin of warm water. Dick drags a chair over to the side of the bed and helps Lew out of his uniform. At the sight of the injuries the Gestapo inflicted, he has to swallow down a swell of rage.

“I’m okay, you know.” Lew watches him steadily.

“But if we hadn’t been able to get to you…if Jones hadn’t gotten that intel. When I think about what would have happened; what would still be happening….” His stomach churns.

“I’m here now. You found me.” He grins. “My hero.”

Scoffing, Dick picks up the basin. He washes him carefully with a small cloth, mindful of Lew’s injuries and the bandages wrapped around his broken ribs. It’s heady, finally being alone. Being so close to Lew, breathing him in, touching him. As heat pools in his belly, Dick chides himself sternly to get under control. _Nix is in no condition._ Yet despite the bruises and healing wounds, he can’t help but admire Lew’s body. Desire it.

Lew runs a hand over his beard. “You have your razor handy?”

Dick nods, breathing deeply as he thinks of Bastogne, and Lew’s patient and tender attention. He retrieves his shaving kit and soaps Lew’s face before gliding the blade over his cheeks. It’s been months since Dick’s seen him clean shaven, and it takes years off his face. He caresses Lew’s soft cheek, wanting him with a powerful hunger.

“Well, I’m glad I haven’t lost my touch.” Lew grins slyly as he looks down at the bulge in Dick’s trousers.

Dick’s cheeks flame and he stands quickly, the water sloshing over the sides of the bowl. “Sorry.”

“Hey, hey, don’t be sorry.” Lew nods toward the expanse of bed to his right. “C’mere.”

After cleaning the razor and squeezing out the cloth, Dick removes his boots and carefully settles onto the bed beside Lew. He pats Lew’s chest and neck dry with a towel. “I shouldn’t be thinking like that. You’re hurt.”

“I’m okay, Dick. It helps, having you close. Come on, lie down with me.”

Dick gingerly leans beside him against the tasseled pillows. Lew rests his uninjured hand on Dick’s thigh. He’s still weak, but he caresses Dick lightly. “There were a few moments there when….” He trails off.

“What?”

“When I thought I was going to die without ever seeing you come.”

Dick inhales sharply, heat surging in his veins. He tries to reply, but nothing comes out except a whimper. His cock tents his trousers.

“Let me see you.”

He swallows thickly. “Nix, you need to rest.”

“It’ll make me feel better. I promise.”

Dick’s fingers ache to wrap around his length and relieve the pressure. Lew is naked beside him, and Dick’s still in his uniform, and there’s something erotic about it that he can’t explain. He rubs the heel of his hand against his straining cock.

A moan escapes his lips, and Lew’s whisper is hot on his ear. “Show me.”

Before he can think better of it, Dick unbuckles his belt and opens his trousers. He pulls his cock out, groaning softly as he touches himself. Precome is already leaking from the tip, and he swipes his thumb over it with a shudder. Lew takes Dick’s left hand, threading their fingers together as he watches avidly.

Panting, squeezing Lew’s hand, Dick arches his hips up, grasping his cock with firm strokes. He makes needy little noises in the back of his throat and bends his knees to get more leverage.

Lew’s voice reverberates up Dick’s spine. “One day, I’m gonna make you scream, Richard Winters. Make you curse like a sailor.”

Dick groans, biting his lip as the pleasure builds. Harry is right next door, and the headboard is swaying against the wall as he works his cock. “Nix….” He meets Lew’s dark gaze beside him on the pillows.

“You ever think about fucking me? Being in me? Because I think about it. Have for a long time now. I think about fucking you. How tight you’ll be, and how I’ll come inside you—”

With a gasp, Dick shoots over his hand, splashing his shirt as he shakes, his whole body releasing as pleasure crashes over him. He milks himself, little aftershocks flickering through him. His legs flop down to the mattress, and he breathes deeply.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Lew smirks, and Dick laughs softly. He’s about to wipe his hand off when Lew stops him. “Let me.”

After a moment of confusion, Dick understands and lifts his hand to Lew’s mouth, slipping a sticky finger inside. Lew licks him clean, one finger at a time, and Dick thinks of Bastogne and smiles. “You knew exactly what you were doing that morning.”

“Well, I had a little idea. Never thought you’d go for it. For me. Thought I was being crazy.”

Dick kisses him gently. “Guess we’re both crazy.”

Lew nods toward his crotch. “Looks like there’s life in the old boy yet. I’ll be up and about in no time.”

Reaching down, Dick takes Lew in hand. It’s the first time he’s ever touched another man like this, so he just strokes the way he likes it himself. Lew leans into him, murmuring. “ _Yes._ Mmm. You know those boys at school I told you about? That was nothing. Kid stuff. No girls around, so we made do. With you, it’s…oh, Jesus.” His cock throbs in Dick’s hand. “I can’t explain it. Never thought I’d want a man like this.” His breath catches. “But I want you. Want it all.”

Feeling bold, Dick sucks Lew’s earlobe. “Should I use my mouth?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, is that a trick question?”

He shimmies down, careful not to jostle Lew. Holding the base of Lew’s cock, he licks up and down the length before taking it between his lips. The taste and smell fills his senses and his own spent cock twitches. Dick’s not exactly sure what he’s doing, but Lew is hot and swollen in his mouth, moaning above him, so he must be doing something right.

Tongue swirling, he sucks and licks, moving up and down Lew’s shaft. Dipping his head lower, he laps at Lew’s balls, and Lew gasps, fingers grasping for Dick’s head. “So good,” he mutters.

Dick sucks him deeply again, and Lew warns him a moment before his hot seed fills Dick’s mouth. Dick swallows as fast as he can, some of it dripping from his lips. It’s salty and he can’t think of anything to compare it to, but he knows he wants more.

Lew’s already sounding sleepy. “Definitely feel better.” He tugs on Dick’s hair, and Dick stretches out beside him, kissing him gently. “Thank you,” Lew murmurs. He gazes seriously, cupping Dick’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Dick knows he’s talking about more than sex. He kisses Lew again and tucks him in under the thick duvet. The bed is soft, and they sink into it as Lew drifts off. For a moment, Dick allows himself a fantasy that the bed they’re in is their own. That they’re home in America, far away from any war.

Later, he fixes his uniform in front of a cheval glass in the corner of the bedroom, buckling his belt and dabbing at the stains on his shirt. He gazes at his own reflection and straightens his tie, shoulders back. Beyond him, he can see Lew sleeping soundly. He feels no shame. No regret.

He feels like more of a man than he ever has firing his rifle.

*

At zero-three-hundred, Lew wakes, shifting his limbs heavily and moaning. Dick sits beside him atop the blankets, leaning back against the headboard. He’s fully dressed but for his boots, because privacy in the army is fleeting, lock on the door or not.

Dick brushes Lew’s hair back from his forehead, tracing the neat line of stitches there. He’d opened the heavy drapes after turning off the light, and the moon streams in through the gauzy curtains left underneath.

Blinking up at him, Lew’s lips quirk up in a ghost of a smile. His voice is hoarse. “Know what else I thought I’d die without doing?”

Dick puts his arm behind Lew’s shoulders and helps him sit up a bit to sip a glass of water. “What’s that, Nix?”

“Telling you I love you. That I don’t care if it’s wrong. Because I feel so damn happy when I’m with you, Dick. Always have.”

Then he’s back under, head resting on Dick’s shoulder as sleep claims him. When Dick can breathe again, he wants more than anything to wake Lew and tell him he feels the same, and always will. But Lew needs his rest.

Dick closes his eyes, and promises God and himself to tell him every day.

 


End file.
